


Make My Heart Fly

by JEAikman



Series: Heather's Fumbles Through Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Proclaimers songs, Rescue, Scottish Character, tags to be updated probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6553096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JEAikman/pseuds/JEAikman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heather wakes up in a cell. But it's not in Haven, and she doesn't know that she's in Dragon Age. She got to Thedas thanks to an experiment that the Venatori got wrong, and they're very interested in her origins, which leads to questions - Luckily she has a friendly fellow-inmate who's convinced they're going to be rescued by the Inquisition</p><p>This is the story of Heather falling in love with Knight Captain Rylen, finding something of home in his voice and his manners, and holding onto that familiarity for all she's worth. If she can get home, she'll find a way, but if not, at least she'd always have the Proclaimers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Heather’s first thought, when she woke, was that she must have tripped and fallen when she was hill-walking - not impossible, since she was known to be clumsy and forget to mind her footing every so often. She made an effort to stand herself up, but soon found that her hands were tied in front of her, and there was cold metal around her ankles - there were chains shackling her to the floor. She looked up, and in front of her eyes, there were bars. She turned her head and all around her were stone walls. She blinked a few times, just to be sure this wasn’t some trick of her concussed mind - it was all still there. She did not believe that she was asleep - she hadd never lucid dreamed in her life, and her dreams had always seemed to happen in more of a blur of images overlaid with vague sounds at most. Nothing quite this… vivid. So best to assume she was really here - wherever ‘here’ might be. She flopped back down on the ground with a sigh, and stared up at the ceiling to contemplate her options.

She was alone, for now, so whoever had captured her must be occupied with something else at the moment - what could she do in the time before they returned, if they returned at all? People could undo locks with hair pins, right? If she could just reach her pocket, she might be able to figure out the how of it. On the spot training, as it were. For if she ever wanted to be an escapologist. She managed to find the pins, but was having very little luck with the whole unlocking aspect of the thing, so decided to give up for the moment. To avoid thinking about her situation, she decided to sing to herself a little. There was no one here to hear her, after all.

‘Please don’t go rushing by, stay and make my heart fly  
Please don’t go rushing by, stay and make my heart fly  
You never seem to know the time when you’re with me,  
You can tell it to the birds, I’ll tell the bees.  
I can’t do any more to get inside your door  
And I can’t do any more, please let me inside your door-’ 

 

‘That’s a pretty tune, my dear.’ Startled by the voice, Heather searched for its source, which had come from across the corridor, the opposite cell from her own. Apparently, she was not as alone as she had first believed. A delicate looking woman, perhaps in her forties with bobbed auburn hair, her face curiously marked, in a style similar to celtic knots, with a heart below her chin and symmetrical patterns of curving lines on both sides of her face sat in the cell across the way, and was similarly bound. Also she had pointy ears but Heather bit her lip to stop from saying anything about it. It was rude to blurt things about people that they likely already know for themselves. She was also holding out hope that this was some kind of very bizarre dream, fueled by watching too many fantasy epics. The woman merely smiled apologetically.  
‘It was not my intention to startle you. Only to say that the guards will return in half an hour, so if there are more songs, best sing them now, before they return and belittle you for them’ . Her accent might have been Irish, but it was hard to place when Heather’s head was still a bit stuffy.

‘What is this place, how did I get here?” She asked, feeling very lost.  
“We are in Griffon Wing Keep, in the Western Approach. I do not know much about how you came to be here,’ The woman told her apologetically. ‘But those who brought you here were attempting an experimental ritual. From what I’ve overheard, they wish to attempt to connect with other universes, beyond the Veil - I heard them arguing over some of the finer points of the theory the other day.’ Heather frowned. None of this made any sense. ‘But they managed to summon you instead. They are all very upset by their failure.’ Wait. She had said Veil, hadn’t she? And… Griffon Wing Keep? Why did those things ring a bell? Maybe a book she’d read, once upon a time?

‘You keep saying ‘they’. Who are they?’ She asked instead, wanting to know who had put her here in the first place, and if they might be reasoned with.  
‘They are the Venatori, dear. Tevinter extremists who want to bring back the glory days when they ruled most of Thedas and make their corrupt magister into a god. Blood mages, to boot. Sylaise protect us.’ The elven lady replied, giving Heather a whole bunch of new terms to remember. Western Approach, Thedas, Griffon Wing Keep, Venatori. Venatori equals extreme cultists. Sylaise.  
‘Who are you? Sorry I didn’t ask that first, still kind of weirded out by waking up in a prison cell with no memory of how I got here. I’m Heather.’ The woman smiled a little, shifting her weight onto her other leg.  
‘My name is Anise, most recently of the Inquisition. I work - or worked, depending on how events play out, for the Nightingale.’  
‘How do you mean?’  
‘I pretended to be one of their slaves, but one of them was going to kill one of the children. I normally remain professional no matter what, but that… I could not abide.’  
‘These Venatori bastards kill wee bairns? Fuck. What sick sort of fuck does that? This is a fucking nightmare.’ Heather exclaimed, feeling easier now that she could be angry rather than scared. The Scottish do angry pretty damned well, and Heather was no exception.

‘They do, and much else besides. Calm yourself now, I think I hear the guard. Tell them as little as you can whilst still appearing to answer their questions my dear. That works more in your favour than silence.’

 

It turned out that Anise gave sound advice for surviving interrogations. Her ‘interviewer’ as he called himself, was named Macrinus, and it started out not too badly. He asked her questions, she gave answers, and he wrote them down. But then came the more invasive questions, ones that she could not skirt around easily.

That was when the beatings started. It was also when she decided that she didn’t want to say anything else today, at all. So the beating continued for an hour or so, and then they decided that they’d better heal her up, so that they could continue with this again tomorrow. They only used enough healing magic that she wouldn’t die. She still hurt like hell when she was thrown back into her cell. She thought about spitting the glob of blood that had gathered in her mouth at her captor, but figured she’d better not, what with the earlier blood magic comment from Anise. She spit it into the back corner of her cell instead, and washed her mouth out with a handful from the bucket near the door.

‘Are you well, my dear?’  
‘No, I’m not. But I’m alive. You?’ Heather inquired, out of politeness more than anything else. Anise smiled.  
‘The very same.’

 

Many days passed in a similar vein. She woke, talked with Anise a little if there was time before she was hauled away for questioning, and beaten to within an inch of her life, the punishments slowly becoming more… creative, and inclusive of magic in many of its crueler forms. She grew used to this routine, and took solace in Anise’s company. The elf told her stories of the Creators, and she found herself praying to Sylaise along with her. , praying for the goddess to never let the fire of defiance in her heart be quenched. Anise noticed this, and smilingly told her that she needn’t do so - but Heather shook her head. It was one more thing to tether her to here, something as far removed from the Venatori and their cruelty as possible.

The days passed into a week, two weeks, a month. Heather didn’t know how long after that, she only knew the cold quiet of the cell, and the pain and questions of the Venatori, and the soothing warmth of Anise’s voice when she told her stories. Anise was adamant that the inquisition would arrive at some point, the Inquisitor would save them, they would be free under the sky once more, but Heather could hardly bear the optimism. She bore it in silence, however, and allowed Anise the comfort of belief, even when it was lost to her.

But then, innumerable days later, they heard the sounds of battle. Explosions, panicked orders, the thundering of armoured footsteps and the clashing of metal on metal. The bandits never bothered the Venatori like this. Something had definitely put a bee up their bonnet and no mistake. Whether that something was the Inquisition which Anise so resolutely believed would save them, she could only guess, and hope, and pray. In the mean time, she tried to get some sleep, and though her back ached something fierce, and her lip was bloody and her left eye swollen, she drifted off easily in her cold cell to a lullaby of blood and battle.


	2. Dreams of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition frees the Venatori's prisoners. Heather dreams, and begins to recover, with well meaning elves watching over her.

Rylen had always made a point of checking dungeons first in any place they happened to claim for the Inquisition. One, because it was a place that needed to be checked as part of a thorough post-victory sweep, and two: he’d rather know what names he had to give to the Nightingale so that their friends could mourn sooner rather than later.

 

“Is anyone there?” He heard from about halfway along the corridor of cells. Female voice, he figured, didn’t sound particularly young.  
“Aye!” He called out. “Captain Rylen of the Inquisition. Who are you?”

“Praise Sylaise! Rylen, is that you?” The voice asked, and he realised he recognised it. It was Anise, one of Leliana’s more senior agents. They had met a few times, but they’d not heard word from her in so long they’d all assumed the worst.

“Anise? You’re still kicking, old lass?” he asked when he reached her, a bright smile on his face - though it was strained when he saw the state of her. She rolled her eyes at his concern. “Scoot over to the side a little. I have no idea which body had the keys, and I was in too much of a hurry to bring a rogue with me - shoddy planning, I know - so I’m going to kick the door down. That ok with you?”  
“Please, commit acts of heinous violence against doors on my behalf” Anise encouraged, a tired smile on her face, gesturing for him to get the hell on with it, once she had maneuvered out of the way. Rylen put all his weight behind the kick, and it flew off its hinges right into the back wall of the cell.

“That was pretty satisfying. You ready to get out of here?”  
“Yes, just as soon as we get Heather out too.”  
“Heather?”  
“A young woman whose acquaintance I made in these past three months. I would guess a Starkhavener by the accent.” Anise made her way unsteadily to the opposite cell. “Our hosts were exceptionally rude to -Heather? Heather!” Anise’s voice had turned panicked, and Rylen turned to look and what he saw made his stomach turned. A young woman, no more than twenty, dressed in little more than rags, face bruised and swollen, back lacerated, the marks angry red with infection, lying far too still. This time, he pulled the door towards him, rather than risk hurting the poor girl more. He crouched and placed the back of his hand close to her mouth.  
“She breathes still, Anise.”

  
“Oh, Creators be praised” Anise whispered from where she knelt at her fellow inmate’s side. Rylen rushed up to the top of the stairs and yelled to the sentries posted outside.  
“Someone get that shiny headed elf down here, we’ve got wounded captives and one needs a healer, immediately.”  
He heard a muffled “yesser” and one of the sentries went running to fetch Solas.

“Down here.” He said when he heard the sentry return with the healer. “Thank you, Amy. You may return to your post.”  
“Yesser.”

Rylen turned to speak with Solas after dismissing her but the elf was already knelt by his patient’s side, hands glowing gently with a light that Rylen knew meant healing. Anise hovered at her - at Heather’s side, Rylen reminded himself. Her name was Heather. Something nagged at the back of his mind, thinking about her name, but he could not quite place it. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms, watching the mage as he worked on repairing the damage done by the Venatori.

 

__

Heather drifts through the desert haze in her dreams. She wonders, briefly, if she is on Tatooine, before realising that even in her dreams, she is still in the Western Approach. Here, though, she looks at the fortress from outside, and watches the battle that must have raged whilst she slept. A slender elf painted with forest green vallaslin that she was almost certain belonged to Mythal led the charge against the Venatori, another elf by her side, and a Qunari swinging his axe in a wide arc to stop the enemies behind them. Another man - a human mage, flashy and moustache-y, twirled his staff around like he was dancing with it.

Heather watched all this until the final confrontation between these fighters and the Venatori. It was very satisfying to see her captors fall so thoroughly. And maybe she took a perverse pleasure in watching the memory of their boss’s death, but she figured she was allowed that much, after what had happened.  
“That and more, my bonnie lassie.” A voice from behind startled her. Heather spun around in a panic. What she saw made her gasp. A woman, wearing a green tartan dress lined with fur, and long red hair running down the length of her back, wielding a claymore spattered with old blood stood before her. The woman frowned gently, lowering her sword to the ground and then putting her hands before her in a gesture of peace. “I’m no gonnae hurt you, my lass.”  
“Your lass?” Heather repeated, confused. “Are you some sort of spirit?”  
“Aye. I’m yours, in a way.”  
“My… spirit?” Heather frowned, not thinking it made much sense, but what else could she really do but go with it? It wasn’t like she had a handbook of _Spirit Etiquette for Dummies._

“Aye. You brought me here with you. You hold on tight to who you are, where you come from. So, even though you’re in this place where I should not exist, I’m here, and will be, as long as you are, my lass.”  
“And who… who are you exactly?” She asked. But her new friend just shook her head with a sad smile.  
“Call me Callie, for now lass. You’ll understand when the time is right.” The woman assured her. “Just remember this, my brave girl. Nemo Me Impune Lacessit.”  
“Wha daur meddle wi me?” She replied with a smile.  
“That’s right, my lass. I’ll be with you, always. No matter where you go. But you have slept long, and your elven friend worries. Tis time to wake, my brave, lonely lass. ‘Ware of wolves.” With that, the woman/spirit, whatever she might be, disappeared and left Heather alone in her empty desert dreamscape.

“Well. That was annoyingly cryptic.” She muttered before she felt the pull of the waking world.

________

 

Heather woke slowly. At first, the world felt fuzzy, and her head was pounding horribly, and then she started to actually be able to feel, which was the absolute worst.  
“Who fed me to a dragon, because that is what I feel like happened.” She tried to say, but all that came out was a croak. She saw movement on her right, and suddenly Anise was helping her sit up and letting her sip from a cup of water. She was so fucking thirsty, but Anise wouldn’t let her drink it all at once.  
“Not so fast, da’len.”  
“Whatever you say, Mamae.” She responded scathingly, her voice still barely above a whisper. There was a snort from across the room, and she looked up and saw the bald elf who had been with those who had fought in the battle she had seen in the fade was sitting on a stool in the corner of the room.  
“I am pleased to see you still live.”

  
“I imagine then that I have you to thank to stop my injuries from killing me while I slept?” she replied with a smile, and he gave a small nod.  
“No thanks is required, I assure you. I was only doing what was necessary.”  
“Ma serranas, nevertheless.” The elf looked at her like she had grown a second head. She panicked and looked to Anise for reassurance. “What, did I pronounce it wrong? Did I accidentally say something pervy?” She asked. Anise chuckled softly and shook her head.  
“No da’len. I imagine he is simply surprised to here the language from one not of the People.” Anise replied, before ruffling Heather’s hair gently. “I should report to Rylen, but I wished to wait for you to wake first.” And with that, she disappeared, leaving Heather to deal with mister creepy bald elf.

“Your companion is correct. I was simply surprised by your speaking my language. It is a sign of respect that one does not recieve very often.”  
“…” Heather shrugged. “But… why wouldn’t I learn a bit of it? It’s not like it’s a secret language? All the spirits speak it…” Heather winced. “I mean, from what I overheard when I was in the Fade.”  
“Oh?”  
Heather decidedly did not like the way his eyes lit up, like he was the Dread Wolf of the stories, stalking information as if it were his prey. ‘Ware the wolves’ “Callie” had said. Maybe this was what she had meant.

  
“Yeah, I didn’t get close enough to see properly but some of them were acting out the battle, and others watched. I didn’t want to… get in the way or whatever.”  
“If you were merely observing, they would have had no objection, I do not believe.”  
“I… didn’t want to get to close to the fighting.” The elf frowned, before his face cleared in understanding.  
“Ah yes. I apologise for not thinking of that. If you would not mind, I should change your bandages.”  
“Go ahead.” Heather gestured feebly.  
“I am Solas - remiss of me to forget an introduction.”  
“Heather. Nice to meet you.” She responded sullenly.

Solas changed her bandages with remarkable consideration towards her modesty, constantly asking if she was alright with what he was doing and Heather was grateful for the appearance of choice that this afforded her. Once he was done however, she was exhausted.  
“Eat some broth, da’len, then you may rest.”  
“’M not hungry.”Heather protested, mostly just because she could, now that she was free.  
“Eat.” Solas repeated, and she swore she could see a blood vessel on his forehead bulging in his annoyance.  
“Dun wanna.” She said, sticking out her tongue like a four year old.

  
“Da’len, stop giving poor Solas a hard time. he wishes only to help.” Anise had chosen that time to walk in and admonish her, though she brought a new friend. A man with a tattooed face and a winning smile.  
“Hello there lass. I see yer bein’ stubborn?” He asked, and Heather could have cried with happiness because a voice like  _that_ in this strange and unfamiliar place was a beautiful, unbelievable thing to hear. And she wanted to hear more - it felt like a tiny sliver of home being returned to her. Home... she hadn't thought about home for so long...

  
“Dinae fash yersel’” Heather grumbled, but the words put such a smile on the man’s face that she couldn’t help but smile back.  
“Now there’s a phrase that takes me back.” He said thoughtfully. “You manage the soup, we’ll see what we can do about you finding your way back home.”  
“Thanks, but I… I think I’d rather join up. Even if it’s just as a cook or something.” Anise and the new guy shared a look that Heather could not for the life of her decipher.  
“Eat the soup. Then sleep, then do whatever you wish.” Solas was practically pressing it under her nose. “I leave with the Inquisitor tomorrow, so you will have to take care of yourself, da’shem.”

  
“Meanie.” Heather grumped, a bit peeved by the fact he'd called her a little shem. “Mean old grandpa elf.” But she ate the broth, which was nearly as bland as the food that the Venatori had given them. Then again, they’d just overtaken the place so probably hadn’t had time to go hunting yet. Or maybe they were working her up to more flavours so she didn’t sick it all up again. That was probably it. At any rate, she drifted off to sleep thinking that the guy with the tattoo on his face was fit as fuck, and that she was definitely going to get to know him better. Whilst avoiding meanie old grandpa elves. Maybe she would see Callie again, and ask what she meant before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while for this one, but I suddenly have a renewed interest in escaping this world for another, so Heather's back. Not sure if I like this chapter. I have rewritten so many possible scenes for this bit, but I think I'm finally just going to have to leave it as it is.
> 
> Happy Burn's Night, everyone :D

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm... Kind of new to the dragon age fandom, but I've put in hundreds of hours to Inquisition, and I've read loads of modern girl in thedas fics and thought they seemed like fun - and I thought it'd be nice if there was a non-American take on that so here I am.  
> This will be a Rylen/OC romance, because why not? Anyway, I hope you enjoy my little foray in rather self-indulgent fic, and if not, then that's fair enough, but I'm having fun, so that's all that matters, really. Here's to hoping thedosians are as easy to convince that a haggis is an animal as American tourists


End file.
